


Humming with the Ghost

by AceQueenKing



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Genophage, M/M, Missing Scene, Salarians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 01:16:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13753179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Tired of the quiet dread of the Normandy, Kirrahe visits Mordin in his lab on the way to the Citadel from Sur'Kesh.





	Humming with the Ghost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keita52](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keita52/gifts).



> This originally started as a birthday gift for keita52 , but given that that was almost a month ago, it turned into a very late birthday gift. Happy very very belated birthday.

Kirrahe had been on the Normandy before but never had it felt so much like a ghost town. 

Of course, it was a different ship now. Literally. This ship was twice the size of the former; had actual beds, a kitchenette bigger than a closet, and several labs Kirrahe knew would attract Mordin's attention. He could see glimpses of an armory too but didn't know the alliance officers here well enough to be able to satisfy his curiosity. 

And despite all these new rooms, luxurious for a frigate, the Alliance crew felt...absent. It was not just the lack of Salarian camaraderie, though he missed the sounds of Commander Rentola trying to lead the human—Wiliams? The name had faded in his mind, though not the image of Rentola grabbing the other woman's hands—as they sang the Salarians funerary song for the loss of their agents. Rentola had been good for that, for filing empty, bleak spaces.

This crew was not. They were fine, of course; competent. But few reached out to others; all seemed to walk about as if they were stunned by the events that had happened, stumbling around the apocalypse simply performing their duties. They fought, they slept, they fought again. The eyes of the men and women around him suggested they already knew they were dead. 

Morale was low. It itched at Kirrahe's scales. 

He had not known humans to be so fatalistic. It was like being on a ship full of Turians. 

He longed to be doing something - anything - to be of use, but things, at the moment, were quiet. All the ship needed was a pilot to move forward, and, now that he had seen the AI the Normandy captain was woefully attempting to pass off as a VI assistant — he'd yet to see a VI who could use contractions with such fluency — he doubted the Normandy even needed that.Kirrahe simply was not yet needed. 

Tired of the dead silence of the crew quarters, Kirrahe rose. There was one place he knew he could go where there would be noise.He made his way to the lab quickly, remembering Mordin's gift for patter. Few stopped him; few even seemed surprised. Perhaps it was not uncommon that humans might figure out that Salarians would stick together. 

There were not many in any of the common areas; Shepard was the only one he recognized. She smiled blearily over him with a bit of caff in hand in the cafeteria but kept her eyes buried in the read-outs on her datapad; he nodded toward her but did not continue the conversation, letting her stay focused on her work.

He was hit by Mordin's patter the moment he opened the door. _"Oh, heredity need not be fetidy, nor scabredity; oh, genes, by any means, adenine, cytosine, guanine, thymine.._." Mordin was singing over a microscope, and Kirrahe almost fainted from the sheer relief of hearing someone still  _living_ on this damn ship. 

As usual, when he was into his work, Mordin was seemingly oblivious to his approach. He was careful to keep distance between them, however; he had see what Mordin could do when startled.It wasn't pretty. 

"Still preferring patter songs, I see," Kirrahe said, relaxing against Mordin's desk. He crossed his arms and smiled thinly as Mordin looked up.

"Ah, Kirrahe!" He grinned. "Looking at Krogan DNA. Most fascinating, most fascinating." His eyes flickered from Kirrahe to the door; ever vigilant, they were, but they were STG. He would expect nothing less. "Our experiment proving successful. Chromosomal changes occurring."

"How fast?" He asked, less concerned with what it would mean for Krogan science and what it would mean for their intelligence community. Old habits, after all, died hard. 

"Fast enough," Mordin said; the narrowing of his eyelids suggested that he could see all too clearly what Kirrahe was considering. "Live children within a year, maybe two. But unlikely to have large-scale live clutches for 50, 100 years — will require five or six generations before such become feasible. Too much damage." His eyes flickered down to the microscope; Kirrahe knew it was from guilt as much as his fascination with meiosis.

"You've built us a buffer," Kirrahe said, because it needed to be said. 

Mordin glanced at him with narrowed eyes for a moment. "Not intentional. If could fix it, would." He shook his head. and went back to staring into the microscope, perhaps an unspoken declaration that he would fix it, if he found a way to. 

"I know." He put a hand on Mordin's shoulder and was satisfied that the man did not throw off the touch. "You're more merciful than most, when you want to be."

"Not merciful. Hopeful." Mordin said, swapping samples out underneath his microscope. "As much as I can be, within the circumstances."

"Good point." He shook his head. "You're certainly more lively than most of this crew. They're not like us. Not used to having to sacrifice, having to hold the line."

"No," Mordin said, quietly. "But they will be." Neither of them said anything for a moment, both thinking of larger things. If only the STG had been able to go after the Reaper's earlier, if only the Council had not been so foolish. Valern should never have fallen to the procrastination of the turian and asari councilors, he of all should have known the importance of firing first. 

"Your support - invaluable," Mordin said, reaching out a hand, though he did not bother to look away from the sample he was now meticulously adjusting. "Would not have gotten the cure without you. Know you do not agree. Helped anyway." 

 "Don't you start acting like you're going to die now," Kirrahe said, lightly slapping Mordin on the arm. "Not the time for getting emotional. Time for planning. Time for  _living_." 

He did not say that he was a bit afraid of what would happen if they did get emotional; he did not say he was afraid of what would happen, if Mordin were to die. Unthinkable, and so he would not allow himself to think of such things. 

"Indeed." Mordin's eyes flickered back to his own, and he seemed not to notice Kirrahe’s own discomfort. "Still remember the song old Pirlath made us sign while running back when we were still initiates?"

"Tadpoles don't make waves?" He closed his eyes, and in a moment he could almost see Mordin as he had been once, young and gawky. Walking Cloaca looked better with one horn anyway, not that Kirrahe would tell him that.

"Yes." 

Mordin turned toward him. "Sing a round or two?"

He nodded, closing his eyes and imagining a simpler time as Mordin sang along with him; “ _Sink or swim, the choice is grim, but  Sur’Kesh knows the way...”_  

Perhaps, when all this was over, he thought, they would get emotional. Perhaps he would go jogging with Mordin on Sur'Kesh again. 

The walking cloaca would no doubt jabber the whole time - but Kirrahe would want it no other way. 


End file.
